Tale of Mireth
by jjjanimefan1
Summary: Mireth is a strange elleth. She posseses no special power or exceptional beauty and she is neither bold, nor graceful. Nevertheless, she lives. This is her story, from Imladris, through Gondor and ultimately, to the West.
1. Chapter 1

Mireth was a rather strange elleth, mostly because she seemed rather ordinary for one of such a noble and esteemed race. She was fair, of course, as all of the Eldar are fair compared to the visages of mortal Men, though she did not possess the breathtaking beauty of some of her peers. She smiled readily enough and her voice was strong when it joined her kindred in song. She obliged her duties in the Last Homely House, if not with joy, then in content. Her elders never complained of her and she had no shortage of companions, though none were close.

There was only one extraordinary thing about Mireth and that secret she guarded jealously. The truth of the matter was. that Mireth had drawn her first breath when she had written her first poem. From that moment forth, she wrote with an excessive amount of passion and no small talent, though no one else knew of her pastime.

Indeed, the memory of that first poem was a strong one and marked her powerfully for the rest of her immortal life.

Crouching under the work desk in her father's study with a goose feather and some stolen ink, she wrote her first rhyme, perhaps something nonsensical about honey cakes, a topic that a child might often find importance in. The feelings of happiness and accomplishment upon gazing at the awkward letters never left her again.

Her mother Ilendra worried about her suddenly studious child, that looked at the outside world with such fierceness and insisted on scribbling constantly on a stray piece of parchment. However, she was soon distracted by Mireth's much more demanding elder siblings and Mireth was left in peace. Neldor, Mireth's father, eventually noticed the missing ink and parchment and soon discovered the little thief. It was then, that Mireth was given her first serious scolding and was given chores to atone for her behavior.

Indeed, after that she never stole from her father again, but he kept her supplied with used bits of parchment and even a cheap bottle of ink, for he had been the one to teach her her letters and was secretly delighted with her more scholarly pursuits. On these scraps of parchment, she wrote until they were covered completely with her spidery lettering and her fingernails were so strained with ink that she could never wash it off completely.

Her other family took little notice of her pursuit. Her father occupied a minor position in the court of Imladris, working as a scribe and while he was a good warrior, his deeds would never be sung of in the famed Halls of Fire of Rivendell.

Mireth's brother and sister rose to much greater renown. Nestor, her brother, was a great warrior, deadly with both blade and bow, who rode side by side with the half-elven princes wherever orcs were to be slain. Mirella, the younger sister, was a being of great beauty even by elvish standards and many young hearts were set aflame when her tinkling laughter spilled through the halls.

The elflings had little in common and spent all but their earliest years apart. As a result, even later on their kinship was not what it should have been. Mireth felt shadowed by her brighter siblings, but it seemed that she bore no resentment toward them. Indeed, she seemed content to observe the outside world without involving herself overmuch in its passing.

Her writing was her outlet, for despite her outward calm, she was a woman who felt strongly and found beauty in all.

In fact many an elf had found her staring, charmed by the falling leaves or observing the passing of storm clouds in quiet delight. She found her greatest inspiration for writing, not in glorious deeds or fallen memories, as most poets of her time, but instead in nature, with which the Firstborn had always cultivated a special bond.

So the years passed quickly, as they can only to one of the Firstborn. Mireth's writing became more than idle scribbling as she began to transform her deep love of the surrounding nature into her poetry. In fact the words were so well and pleasingly chosen, that one could almost taste the sweet evening air and hear the rustling of the leaves as they were reading. Yet, she held her writings so immensely private, that none were allowed to share their delight.

By now, Mireth had accumulated a veritable nest of parchment bits and occasionally even dropped a scrap when she was walking through the halls. One of these lost pieces was found one summer afternoon by Lord Erestor, High Advisor to the Elflord, who was an avid scholar and admirer of words. He was moved by the care and passion evident in the writing and vowed to find their creator.

It did not take long until his search lead to Mireth, who had grown careless in her solitude and no longer guarded her treasures quite so jealously. Still, it took much convincing for her to hand over some of her better works, though the praise of such a high figure did wonders for her self-esteem.

Lord Erestor offered to publish her work in a bound book, for he was a great patron of the Arts and many of the artists in Imladris flourished under his sponsorship. Mireth hesitated, but eventually allowed the publication, on the condition that it be published under another name, as to protect her secrecy.

A few months later she opened her first book of poems, handed to her by a beaming Lord Erestor. It was a slim leather-bound journal with green covers and on the first page was a dedication:

_To the green Mother_

_of all being_

_whose fingers nurture and destroy_

_in equal measure._

And so the first of Mireth's books joined the great library of Imladris.

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Here's the first chapter, hopefully you like it. If you find any mistakes or feel that there's anything I should know, that you might have noticed, I'd be grateful for your review.

Enjoy!

Love,

J


	2. Chapter 2

Life had not changed overmuch for Mireth with the publishing of the Book of the Naturemother. Her name did not grace the exquisite covers and the library of Rivendell had many other books to choose from, for one interested in art and lore. Though it gave her secret delight to eavesdrop on discussions that some of her peers might have had on her work, the Lord Erestor was still the only one who realized the identity of the secret writer.

It was at this time that Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, announced his betrothal to the lovely Lady Celebrian of Lorien and the whole of the sweet valley rejoiced at the news. A merry company it was indeed, that awaited the arrival of the new lady and her kin on that warm summer evening and Mireth was among them with a light heart and an easy smile.

The Lorien elves arrived with a song in their hearts and on their lips, as was custom and many praises were sung to the happiness of this new union. The visitors were splendid indeed, glowing with a golden light reminiscent of the bright rays of dawn and the Lady Celebrian was brightest among them, clad in her ceremonial garb.

However, Mireth saw none of her new lady, for her gaze was draw to another.

Bathed in starlight, his hair was a river of the most precious mithril and his stormy gaze swept over the gathered, above which he loomed with his tall stature. Like a Maiar of oldest tales he appeared to the enchanted maiden, whose heart was stirred for the first time in her long immortal life. It beat like a butterfly in the cage of her breast and she felt light, as if she could float away at any moment.

For a brief moment his eyes met hers before moving on, but in that gaze a fire lit through her body, feelings the likes of which she had never felt before overwhelming her in an instant. All her previous passions and comforts seemed insignificant, lessened somehow by the strength of this new emotion.

In that one moment, Mireth had fallen deeply in love.

Then, she became aware of another figure, golden-haired and beautiful beyond measure, standing beside her enchanter. As this beautiful elleth twined her fingers with the handsome elf, Mireth realized her mistake. Or rather, her heart showed her folly with a sharp, crippling bolt of pain.

The Lady Galadriel lost herself for a moment in her husband's loving gaze and revelled in the familiar press of his fingers, when suddenly she sensed a disturbance on the edge of her vision. When she turned to see it, it had already gone.

Her husband Celeborn, basking in his wife's radiance, never noticed a thing.

Mireth had fled.

The whole exchange lasted no longer than a minute, yet it felt an age in its significance. She spent the whole of the celebrations hidden in her room, her writing feather clutched in her fingers, yet unable to write even a word, tears finally overcoming her and flowing down her cheeks with each painful beat of her heart.

It was late morning when she finally ventured out of her sanctuary. The halls were quiet, as many of the guests turned to bed only when the dawn broke the sky. Indeed some of them had never even left their posts, sleeping on benches in the Hall of fire, overwhelmed in the moment by wine and song.

Mireth paid them no mind, even as she took a thankfully unmolested apple off the table and headed to the rose garden. Even if her world had been changed and she still felt strangely disoriented, the chores still awaited her firm hand. The world continued to move.

However, when she entered the sweet-smelling garden, the apple fell from her limp hand, forgotten, for she was captured by eyes of the deepest turquoise and her heart was laid bare. The Lady Galadriel cracked open the elf-child's soul and beheld the shameful regard it held for her own heartmate Celeborn.

So Mireth was confronted not only with her weary heart, but with a gaze full of pity. This weight was much harder to bear and again she turned and fled. The Lady Galadriel looked after her with pity, but not with cruelty, for she knew that her lord's heart belonged to her only and jealousy was an emotion foreign to her.

Mireth barely acknowledged the days that followed. She refused food and sleep, seeking comfort in the only thing she knew, the sharp tip of a writing feather.

She laid her heart bare, though it was not much to look at, battered and blistered and bleeding. Through writing, she began mending and in lines she translated the feelings warring in her fragile body. She wrote on Love of Wonder, of Delight, then of Loss, of Pain, of Loneliness and finally of Regret and Longing in equal measure.

And though she called herself a fool, she stood at her window, watching the departing guests, following the glint of silver long after it had disappeared from view.

Some days later, she laid a new manuscript on Lord Erestor's desk. He looked through the writings and praised her, but could not help wondering at the difference between the earlier poems and these recent ones. However, he was a wise old elf and he sensed a change within her and silently agreed that it had perhaps done her good, though it was doubtlessly hard to endure. He published the book.

On its pages was written:

_To my Silver lord of Longing_

_Whom forged me anew with_

_A gaze._

_You shall never see my heart._

Through time Mireth's heart was healed, though it bore now the scars of a first love. Even so, there remained a corner of her heart where a tiny flickering flame still burned for the silver Lord Celeborn.

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Hello, my dears!

Here is the new chapter with the obligatory love story (helpless and juvenile it may be). Still, I hope it doesn't disappoint. Thank you for the reviews and follows, more will hopefully be written soon.

Love,

J


	3. Chapter 3

The years that followed were strange for Mireth. She became restless and fickle and nothing could hold her attention for long. She tried her hand at pottery, but quit after a few months and the same story repeated with archery, metal-working and the lute.

Even her writing became erratic, somehow suddenly sharper and angrier. It was at this time that her parents decided to complete their journey to the West. They were weary of Middle-Earth and determined that now, with their children fully grown, was the time to leave. They fully expected for Mireth to leave with them, since there seemed nothing tangible to tie her to Middle-Earth any longer. However, she refused, feeling that there was still something she had left to do. In fact her restlessness was in large also a consequence of this feeling.

So her parents left alone that summer, leaving Mireth in a melancholy mood.

It persisted until one day in early autumn, when Mireth came upon a door left slightly ajar when returning from her work. Inside, a mortal woman was crying quietly.

Mireth was moved by the woman's plight, for she still possessed a tender and sensitive heart. She went inside, quiet as only an elf could be, sat next to the lady and drew her into a loose embrace. The woman, lost in grief, cried even harder, sadness even greater because of the offered comfort.

Later on, when the tears had stopped, she introduced herself as Gilraen, crying because of the news that her husband, a ranger, had perished in the wilderness, leaving her and her unborn child alone in the world.

While she was gently soothing the future mother's dreams, Mireth became aware of the change in herself. The embers of her heart were stirred and the coals now glowed with steady warmth. They had been awakened by her care of Gilraen and the new life growing inside her.

Gilraen and Mireth were rarely seen apart. Mireth would wake her up in the mornings, brush her hair and force her to eat, lest she forget in her grief. They went walking through the gardens, the falling leaves trailing behind them and painting the landscape in vivid colours. It was an unusually warm autumn, so Gilraen sat watching the elleth catch the falling leaves and smiling at the carefree songs she was singing.

Autumn gave way to winter and the two women spent their days settled in front of a cosy fireplace and Mireth reading to Gilraen. She truly loved literature, but had never been taught to read or write. Mireth even dared to read her some of her own works and smiled, secretly pleased, when Gilraen praised them.

When spring came, one could find Mireth and Gilraen in the garden, the mortal sewing a little suit for her baby, while the elf sang softly, her head resting on the swollen belly. The elfmaiden was fascinated with by the growing bump, exclaiming over the little movements and often singing or speaking to the unborn child.

In May, when Gilraen went into labour, Mireth was there to hold her hand, encouraging and praising, for it was a hard birth, at the end of which, despite Lord Elrond's care, Gilraen died. She managed only enough strength to name the boy Aragorn and to press a kiss upon his brow, before breathing her last.

The child safely in the care of Lord Elrond, Mireth gently washed her lady's body and prepared her for burial. Inevitably her tears mixed with the water as she cleared away the blood and sweat.

Pressing a last kiss to her cold forehead, Mireth said goodbye to the woman she loved so tenderly. Then she left the room in search of little Aragorn, the only part of her love still remaining in this world.

Soon afterwards, a new book appeared on the shelves of the Imladris library. The dedication read:

_To my autumn lady,_

_who died as all leaves die,_

_but gave new life to my heart._

Some wondered at the easy acceptance Mireth showed at the death of her companion. It was indeed not well-known that Mireth's family possessed some gift in foresight.

Mireth had known since the first time she laid her hand on the expanding belly, that Gilraen would not survive the birth of her child.

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The new chapter is here! Hope you like it. I took some creative licence with this one, Aragorn's parents lived on for most of his childhood before he came into Lord Elrond's care. He also probably wasn't born in May. Please forgive me and enjoy the story!

Thanky you for the reviews, the follows and the favourites. Your encouragement means a lot.

Love,

J


	4. Chapter 4

After taking care of Gilraen's body, Mireth left the chambers for her duty was not yet complete. She found the baby in the arms of Lord Elrond, who lifted his piercing gray gaze to meet her when she came in. She didn't even see him, fixated as she was on the child he was holding. She held out her arms and the elvenlord passed her the little bundle. The boy blinked his sleepy eyelids open. Looking at him, Mireth locked away her traitorous heart and placed the keys in his little fist which was tightening its clutch on her dress.

Days later, at the ceremony where Lord Elrond adopted Aragorn as his own son, naming him Estel among the Eldar, Mireth stood in the background ready to attend the child's every need.

The first governess was dismissed as soon as Mireth learnt how to tend to him and she would have no assistant in her care, save for lord Elrond and his family. Indeed she barely accepted any other women touching the baby, save for the woman who breastfed him. Lord Elrond saw her devotion and blessed the arrangement, designating Mireth as the child's primary caretaker and companion.

Estel and Mireth spent many days walking through Imladris, stopping at trees, flowers, tapestries and sculptures, where Mireth would invent stories and riddles suitable for entertaining a small boy. Estel showed a great talent for words and soon memorised short poems and even began to invent his own, which he recited at dinnertime to the great delight of all.

Mireth was by Estel's side almost constantly, encouraging, teaching and loving. Truthfully, she didn't know what to do with herself when Estel was attending lessons with his father and Lord Erestor, so complete was her investment in his care. She still wrote, but now her works were mostly comprised of stories, poems and riddles she invented for Estel.

What worried her most were the war arts that boy was quickly excelling at. She would always arrive at the practice area some time before the lesions were to end and afterwards bustled around the child, insisting on inspecting every limb for injury and then rushing him inside the house.

So dedicated was she to her activities that the twin princes, Elladan and Elrohir, often found themselves drawn along and in Estel's bed, tasked with storytelling duty. On one such occasion their mischievous streak emerged.

Mireth had just settled Estel into bed after a bath, with the twins on either side, ready to entertain. Then, as was custom, the ten-year old requested a goodnight kiss, which Mireth obliged and pressed her lips on his forehead. Observing this, one of the twins (impossible to tell which) requested the same treatment, with the other soon following.

Mireth left the room, face aflame, but returned swiftly with a bigger quilt and with the practiced motions of an expert proceeded to tuck in both of the elflords, afterwards pressing a soft kiss to each noble forehead. Giving a bright goodnight, she left the princes tangled in blankets, desperately trying to free themselves, while Estel's giggles echoed in the night.

Little Estel was growing quickly and in what seemed like a heartbeat, he entered his tweens, shooting up in height and broadening out. At his sixteenth birthing day, the twins suggested he join them in a hunting party leaving Rivendell the next day. Estel was beside himself with excitement and did not notice Mireth grow pale and withdrawn next to him.

The next day she was in a right state, fretting while he gathered his supplies, insisting on checking them over repeatedly and in general making a bit of a nuisance of herself.

Estel was quickly fed up with her, impatient and excited as he was, and snapped a few choice rough words that caused her to quiet and still. She said no more to him of the journey and when he left with the others she offered him her blessing, but no affectionate kisses or anxious goodbyes.

She stood on the highest step of the staircase and looked after his horse long after they had gone.

When he returned, Estel apologised for his harsh words. Mireth simply smiled and told him that he had been forgiven the moment he uttered them, and that she was also at fault. However, from that day forth, Mireth kept her fears secret when she watched him ride out into increasingly difficult battles and was his nursemaid no longer. Her comforting words and companionship still eased his troubled mind at times, but he spent more and more time with his fellow warriors and his old companion did not begrudge him of that.

Childhood had passed.

Soon enough, a small slim booklet graced the shelves of the Imladris library. It was a book of riddles, made for children, though it sadly saw little wear, as elves bore very few offspring.

Though, a very similar book did appear in the famed library of Gondor, where years later a young steward's son poured over them in delight, while his elder brother attended sword practice. Also mysteriously (a wizard's meddlings no doubth), a like booklet somehow fell into the possession of a fine gentlehobbit named Bilbo Baggins. It was a book that brought great delight to his cousin Frodo, newly residing in Bag End and the cousins were frequently seen pouring over the brainteasers under a great old oak tree in the backyard. That tree and those riddles were some of the sweetest memories both could remember from Frodo's childhood and it gave them comfort in some of the darkest places.

When Bilbo moved to Rivendell in his advanced age, he was surprised and delighted to see its twin on the overfull library shelves, though he doubtlessly never learned of its origin. Possibly, he never even realised that the cheerful elleth who brought him his afternoon tea almost every day, was also the person who wrote them

This was Bilbo's favourite riddle:

_What does man love more than life?  
Fear more than death or mortal strife?  
What do the poor have, what the rich require,  
And what contented men desire?  
What does the miser spend, the spendthrift save,  
And all men carry to their graves?_

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Here we go, the newest chapter! Can you guess the riddle? Let me know! The answer will be in the next chapter. Thank you for all the reviews and follows, they really inspire me! I hope this chapter will not disappoint and you'll continue reading this story.

Love,

J


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